


A Good Friend Told Me You've Been Staying Out Too Late

by Dredfulhapiness



Series: Hello My Old Heart [3]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, College, Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, F/M, Iron Dad, Iron Family, Parent Tony Stark
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-17
Updated: 2019-07-25
Packaged: 2020-06-30 00:10:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19841434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dredfulhapiness/pseuds/Dredfulhapiness
Summary: After the blip, Peter is just relieved to have everyone back where he found them. A year after coming back, he goes away to college and struggles to balance being a student and being Spider-Man. Oh, and there's the whole 'keeping it a secret from his roommate' thing.When a series of attacks start cropping up in New York by a man on a hoverboard (the kind from Back to the Future, not the kind with wheels), Peter-- with the help of Harley and Tony-- has to stop this masked villain and also pass his finals.





	1. I Am Gonna Make It Through This Year (If It Kills Me)

“You know,” Tony said as he watched Peter shove his clothes into a suitcase. “It’s probably not too late to namedrop at MIT.”

He was supposed to be _helping_ , but the only thing he had really done was take up space in Peter’s already overcrowded room. Peter and May exchanged a look: exasperation, and for the third time since Tony showed up Peter said:

“ESU is a good school, Mr. Stark.” He closed his bulging suitcase and attempted to zip it up. “Besides,” he said, straining, “it’s local, so I can keep being the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man. May, can you—“

She laughed as she sat on the suitcase. Tony opened his mouth.

“ESU,” she said before he could get a word in, “has a great engineering program. And he’ll be able to visit you more if he’s near Mister Strange’s—“

“Doctor,” Peter said.

“Portal thingies.”

“Harley lives in Tennessee,” Tony pointed out, “and I see him at least twice a week.”

May raised an eyebrow. Tony rolled his eyes.

“I wanted to get into school on my own,” Peter pointed out, “not because Tony Stark got me in.”

“First of all, it would be a recommendation letter from your internship—“

“Which doesn’t exist,” Peter reminded.

They loaded up the car while Tony pretended not to sulk.

“You feeling ready to go?” He asked when they finally forced the trunk closed. Peter looked up, surprised.

“Yeah,” Peter said. “I think.”

Tony put a hand on his shoulder. “Just… Be careful out there, kid. Don’t do anything stu…” He stopped, looked momentarily distressed.

“I’ll stay in the grey zone,” Peter promised. Tony’s lips twitched into a smile.

“And you better be there next weekend. Morgan wants you on her team.”

“I _am_ the best at charades.”

“Only because Harley couldn’t figure out how to mime a spider,” May pointed out. Peter pouted at her. Tony checked his watch.

“I gotta get home for dinner,” he said, and May and Peter exchanged a knowing smile.

They hadn’t been there to see the transformation, but during the blip he’d grown into a great father. After nearly dying (admittedly for the ten millionth time) he’d become a much better husband. He was (usually) home for dinner on time. He cooked on the weekends. He scheduled date nights and made Peter, or Harley, or Nebula (if she was on world) babysit. It was… nice.

“I’ll see you next weekend, Mr. Stark!”

—

Peter took a deep breath as he stepped out of the car. This was it! College! The best years of his life!

Around him, the sidewalks were crowded with other incoming freshman. They were lugging boxes, suitcases, pushing them on carpet Dollys. He gave himself a second, let his senses get used to the new, crowded environment.

Despite being in the middle of a city, Empire State University managed to feel sprawling. The quad was green and long, stretching from the admissions office at the far end to where Peter stood, at the entrance by the main road. It was one of the few schools in the city to have an actual campus rather than be spread across city blocks. There were a few orientation groups already settled in the shade of the trees. A tour passed him, and the guide was peppy and loud, and all of the kids following her looked exhausted. Peter pitied them. It was eight in the morning now, he could only imagine how early they had moved in to be getting a tour now.

“Alright,” May said behind him. She closed the trunk. “Where are we heading?”

Peter glanced at his hand. The information he had written on his palm had already blurred to the point of near illegibility. He looked at the map, then back at his hand.

“This way,” he said, pointing toward the oldest looking building on campus. “Honors housing.”

The building looked very… regal. It was white brick, antebellum architecture. Icy climbed the side, partially eclipsing some of the windows. With the sun still rising, the shadow it cast covered half the green.Peter swallowed. This was real. This was very, very real.

He thought back to before Spider-Man, to before Ben had died. His dream had been MIT. To be the next Tony Stark— or as close to it as he could get. But Spider-Man had slashed most of his sophomore year grades, and as much as Tony had insisted, Peter didn’t want to go to MIT if he hadn’t _earned_ it. The financial aid package they’d offered wasn’t something he and May could have pulled off on their own, and when the scholarship letter came in from Stark Industries, Peter had thrown it out without saying another word.

College was his responsibility, not Tony’s.

“Ready to go find your room?” May asked, handing him his suitcase and another box.

“Yeah,” Peter said, finally tearing his eyes away from the building he was going to spend the next eight months living in. “Let’s go.”

The first thing Peter noticed about his roommate was his hair— it was curly and red and slicked back. He offered a hand, and Peter took it.

“Hey,” he said, “I’m Peter Parker.”

“Harry,” his roommate answered. He said it so regally, so formally. His handshake was firm and proper. Peter tilted his head, slightly. If Harry noticed, he didn’t say anything. “Are you okay with this side of the room?” Harry asked, nodding to the empty bed by the door. “I had the earlier move-in time, and I wasn’t sure which you’d want so I just picked.”

“Huh? Yeah, yeah that’s fine. No problem.” Peter dropped his suitcase onto the bed. It was probably better for him to be by the door, anyway. If he needed to sneak out or in later at night...

Okay, he still wasn’t sure how this whole Spider-Man thing was going to work out with a roommate. He may have to start getting changed in phone booths a la ‘Clark Kent.’ Or, maybe, if there was a hatch up to the roof of their building.

“What are you studying?” Peter asked. He opened the suitcase and it practically sprang open. A couple shirts tumbled out. Sheepishly, he refolded them.

“Double major in chemistry and electrical engineering. You?”

Peter whistled. “Double? That’s bold.” Then, “sorry, that’s condescending I just couldn’t imagine balancing all that work.”

Harry laughed. “Me either,” he admitted, “but my dad wanted me to work with him when I graduate so...” he trailed off. “But what about you?”

“Electrical engineering.” Peter was about to inquire about Harry’s father when there was a knock on the open door. May was standing in the doorway, partially covering her eyes and holding a camera.

“Can I come in?” She asked.

“Oh, uh.” Peter said. “Harry, this is my Aunt May. May, this is my roommate.”

Just as he had with Peter, Harry held a hand out for May to shake. “Pleasure to meet you.”

“Oh,” May said, “so polite.” She looked back at Peter, “the other bags are outside the door, I packed you a couple extra toothbrushes, and I put some snacks for the room in the Tupperware. Are you sure you don’t want me to help you unpack?” She said it more like _please let me help you unpack._ Peter shook his head.

“I’m really okay, May,” he promised.

“You know you can call me, right? If you need anything— at any time, even if it’s the middle of the night—“

“I know, May.”

“And you can come home for dinner whenever you want. You don’t only have to come home on the weekends, you can just take the subway to Grand Centra—“

“I know how to get home, May. Really.” Peter gave her a gentle smile.

“Fine,” May said. “But I’m getting a picture before I leave.” She motioned to Harry. “Scootch in! It’s your first move-in day!”

“May,” Peter whined. “Harry, you don’t have to—“ Harry was already beside him, throwing an arm over his shoulder.

“It’s a picture,” he said, laughing. “First day of college, gotta remember it.”

“I like him!” May said.

It took twenty more minutes to get her out the door.

“I promise,” Peter said, when he finally had her in the doorway, her feet just barely over the threshold. “I have everything under control. I’ll see you at thanksgiving— I’m kidding! Don’t look at me like that, I’m _kidding_! I love you, I’ll call you later, I promise.”

When he finally got the door closed behind him, Peter let out a sigh, and let himself lean against it. He closed his eyes for a brief moment.

“She seems sweet,” Harry said.

When Peter opened his eyes, Harry was sitting on the bed, looking up at him. His phone cast a light under his chin. The ivy over the windows dappled his face. Peter smiled, sheepish.

“She’s amazing,” he admitted. “Do, uh. Do you know what time our tour is?” He glanced down at his hand. The words he had written were nothing other than blobs now. A Rorschach test.

“We have another...” Harry glanced at his watch. “Twenty minutes.” He looked at Peter’s stack of untouched boxes. “Need a hand unpacking?”

“That would be great.... actually.” Peter rubbed at the back of his neck. “I don’t need everything super organized right now, I just need.” He waved his hands. “It’s overwhelming.”

It reminded him of coming back, actually. When he and May were displaced and for months he had boxes crammed into his room, still packed, because they were waiting for a more suitable apartment to become available.

He shook his head to clear the thought away. It had been a year and a half since everyone lost in the blip had come back, there was no need to focus on that now. He was here for the college experience, and that involved unpacking, dammit.

“What do you want me to do with this?” Harry pulled Peter’s _Game of Thrones_ lamp out of the box he had been rummaging in. It had been a birthday gift from Harley, homemade.

“Uh, just on the desk is fine.” Peter waved his hand noncommittally.

They chatted while they worked. Peter learned that Harry had played football in high school, that his dad was an engineer, and that he hadn’t been blipped. Peter gave him the basics: he lived with his aunt, he liked most of the music that played on the radio, and that the only pet he’d ever owned was a lizard that had run away.

Yeah, he came to a sudden realization with that last one.

The two of them together managed to unpack most of Peter’s things before rushing outside. They left the room with Peter’s Star Wars poster hanging crooked, the Edison lights hanging precariously from Command strips.

“What made you choose ESU?” Peter asked as they half-jogged. Their orientation group was supposed to meet on the sprawling steps outside of thelibrary, but their dorm was the farthest away from it.

“I wanted to stay local,” Harry said, panting around his words. “But not have to live at home.”

They managed to squeeze into the group just as Harry’s name was being called. Peter ended up a few people down from him at the only other opening in the circle. “Harry Osborn?” The orientation leader— a grinning blonde with a name tag that read “Gwen”— looked up from her clipboard. Harry held up a hand, seemed to retreat back into the collar of his shirt.

“It’s nice to see that you made it,” Gwen said without skipping a beat. The rest of the group didn’t move on so quick. The whispers came quick. Someone giggled. Peter glanced around, looking for some kind of an answer, but he found nothing.

“What’s going on?” He finally asked the guy next to him with a low voice. He watched as Harry crossed his arms in an attempt to feign nonchalance. His posture slouched just the slightest. Peter frowned.

“What, you don’t know who the Osborns are? Were you blipped or something?” The guy turned, made direct eye contact. His eyes widened. “Oh, shit,” he said quickly upon seeing the look on Peter’s face. “I’m sorry dude, that wasn’t funny.” He cleared his throat.

“Peter Parker?” Gwen said. Peter held a hand up.

“Here,” he said, and wanted to die when his voice chose that moment to crack.

“They’re the richest people in Manhattan since Tony Stark moved out.” The guy glanced over at Harry. “They make all kinds of tech for the government.”

Oh.

Maybe Peter had been spending too much time upstate. Or, maybe, things had just been quiet since everyone had come back. He stopped some petty crimes every once in a while. He signed some autographs when kids asked.

It seemed like the Avengers had made their point: don’t fuck with us.

Either way, there was still a lot that Peter didn’t know about. And, he supposed, if he didn’t know about the Osborns they probably weren’t criminals.

“So you got blipped? What was it like?” The kid next to him asked. Peter just looked at him.

It had been nearly a year, he honestly thought that they were over this.

“Okay, everyone!” Gwen grabbed their attention before Peter found himself starting college off on a Very Bad Foot. “We’re going to play two truths and a lie. So just say your name, major, and then your truths and your lie and we’ll vote on what we think the lie is.” She scanned the circle of students around her before settling on one scrawny looking guy near Harry. “How about you go first?”

“Uh,” he said eloquently. “Okay. Um. I’m Eddie, I’m a Journalism major, and I. Uh. I like to write, I led the high school paper and…” he got a glint in his eye. “I’m Spider-Man.”

Peter’s head perked. “He’s totally lying,” the kid next to him said. “Spider-Man’s an Avenger, there’s no way he’s wasting his time going to college. He’s probably, like, a thirty year old man.”

Peter laughed, awkwardly. “Yeah,” he said, “right.”

After four years (nine? He still wasn’t sure if that time counted) of dealing with Flash Thompson, Peter should be used to people talking about Spider-Man around him.

Everyone agreed with the kid next to him. Clearly Eddie wasn’t Spider-Man.

“I mean,” Peter said, “that’d be a pretty great cover.” It was the guy’s turn to just stare at him.

The group swung around to Peter. So far, all of the answers had been relatively normal: I have two pets, I have a tattoo, my septum is pierced. When it was Peter’s turn to speak he realized he had nothing planned. “I’m Peter,” he said, raising an arm stiffly. “I’m an engineering major. I… I toured Europe with some friends, I had an internship with Stark Industries and… Led Zeppelin is my favorite band.”

Everyone thought the lie was the internship. In their defense, he’d told two lies.

“Are we right?” Gwen asked. She grinned at him. Peter pulled away, slightly.

“Nope,” he said, because the Stark Internship had never been something he’d kept secret, and there was no need to start now. “I don’t think I could name a single Led Zeppelin song.”

—

“So,” Harry said, sidling up beside Peter as the orientation group disbanded. “Are you thinking of going to ‘college life on a budget’ or ‘safe drinking seminar’? I heard the drinking one has a skit.”

“I think I’m gonna grab lunch, actually,” Peter said. He glanced at his watch. It was nearing eleven, and he knew that the dining hall started serving non-breakfast foods around eleven thirty.

“That sounds a lot more exciting than a skit about drinking,” Harry agreed. “Mind if I join?”

“The more the merrier.”

They fell into step. Peter stuffed his hands into his pockets.

“You did a Stark Internship, huh? Was that…”

“It was before,” Peter said quickly. “I mean, I was in the middle of it during.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry said. And, again, Peter thought they were past this.

“It is what it is,” Peter said. “One minute you’re doing homework and the next you’re… yeeted into nothingness.”

Harry choked on a laugh. “I’m sorry,” he said quickly, “I’ve just never heard it put quite like that.”

“If I had to pick a way to word it,” Peter said with a shrug. Actually, he’d probably say, “terrifying” or, when you’ve watched most of the people around you turn to dust “inevitable,” but that word felt too heavy anymore. Nothing was inevitable.

“So have you met Tony Stark?”

“Once or twice,” Peter said. He propped the door into the dining hall open with his foot. “I’ll grab a table?”

—

Peter had just barely sat down when his phone rang. He didn’t even get a chance to say hello before Harley started talking:

“I figured it out! You need to readjust the size, the diameter is too big. You’re using more webs in a shorter span of time, and since the new ones are more durable— where are you?”

Peter put his tray down on the table. He cleared his throat. “Uh, in the dining hall.”

“Oh, shit, that’s right. You moved in today.”

“It’s fine. What were you saying?” Peter shoved a bite of food in his face.

“You sure? It can wait.” And Peter could imagine him leaning back against the workbench, oil on his face, hair messy. The mental picture made Peter smile. He glanced around. There was no one sitting in any of the tables near him, and it was loud enough that he couldn’t be overheard.

“If we make the diameter smaller the threads might be too small to hold me. Besides, it’ll jam easier, and what about web grenades?” Peter searched the room. Harry was still in line for dessert.

“We could specialize each one.”

“What if something goes wrong with one? If I only have one left…”

“I mean… How much of it is your suit?”

“Which one?” Peter asked around a mouth full of bologna.

“Which one do you _use_?”

Peter shrugged, then realized Harley couldn’t see him. He swallowed. “It depends on my mood.”

“Are you joking, dude?”

Peter opened his mouth to reply, then searched the room. Harry was headed over to him. “I gotta go,” he said, “I’ll call you later but _don’t_.”

“Please tell me you were kidding—“

“Don’t mess with the web shooters, okay, I spent _years_ —“

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Enjoy college. See you next weekend?”

“Yeah, next weekend. Do you know who’s going to be there?” Harry sat across from Peter. Peter shot him an apologetic smile and held up a finger.

“The usual,” Harley said, “I think Nebula and the raccoon might be there—“

“Rocket?”

“You know any other talking raccoons?”

“ _Goodbye_.”

“Bye.”

Peter looked up and shot Harry a sheepish grin. “Sorry, my friend wanted to see how move-in was going.” Peter pulled the crust off his sandwich and popped it in his mouth. “You want these Fritos?” He slid the bag across the table, “the cashier gave it to me and I didn’t want to be rude.”

“Uh,” Harry said. “No, thank you.” Then, “How’s the food?”

“It’s not poisoned, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

“How’d you know?”

—

Peter had learned a complete list of things about Harry over lunch:

  1. His father _was_ Norman Osborn, CEO and owner of Oscorp, the largest tech company in the world since Stark Industries had taken a step back after the Blip. He also learned that Harry didn’t particularly like talking about it. When Peter had asked about it, he’d pulled away a little bit and explained sheepishly. The company had cropped up during the five years Peter had been— wherever he had been— and quickly started engineering tools for the United States Government. Just like Harley, the government had done its best to put together an arsenal, just waiting for the other shoe to drop and for war to break out.
  2. Harry was close with his father, but had never known his mother. She’d died when he was three, leaving him and his father alone in a big house. Norman didn’t talk about her a lot. Harry sounded like he was trying not to sound bitter when he talked about that.
  3. His favorite superhero was Thor.
  4. He was supposed to take over the company when Norman retired. He was also supposed to go to MIT, but he didn’t want to go that far. After an argument that lasted roughly three weeks, they had settled on ESU.
  5. He had watched all of the Star Wars movies six times each which meant that he had spent 202 hours of his life watching Star Wars, and Peter had never been more awed to be in the presence of someone than he had upon learning that.
  6. He would prefer it if Peter didn’t smoke in the room.
  7. He sometimes talked in his sleep.



—

Peter was in his first Tuesday night class when he got the alert on his phone. When the screen lit up, he looked over at it from the mouse he had been doodling in the corner of his notes. He looked up at the professor and the physics notes on the board that he had just realized he hadn’t copied down. He glanced at his phone again, and grit his teeth at the fact that he still had fifteen minutes left in the class.

He weighed his options.

College. That’s why he’s here. That’s his priority.

Besides, you can’t leave early during the first class. That’s just wrong.

He waited until class was over to find a roof access door.

—

The attack seemed random. By the time Peter had gotten to the scene, half the crowd had already come to and were complaining of headaches. The other half were waking up, groggy.

It was the anniversary of

“Some kind of gas attack,” one of the police officers explained. Peter looked down at him from the top of the police car. “Some guy in a green mask came in on a hover board—“

“One of the ones with wheels?”

“No,” the officer said, shooting Peter a look of confusion, “a hover board— you know, the floating ones.”

“Like in _Back to the Future_ ,” Peter said. The cop nodded. “Wow, the future is so cool!”

The cop walked away. That hadn’t been the right reaction, apparently.

He got the rest of the story from a friendlier cop.

“The witnesses that are awake said they saw a guy float in, drop something, and then the room was covered in smoke.” The officer took a drag on her cigarette. She looked at Peter carefully. “You ever see anything like that?”

“Kind of,” Peter admitted. “The other cop I talked to said something about a hover board— you know anything about that?”

“We won’t know anything for sure until the CCTV footage is released,” but she didn’t sound convinced. “Look, this is a party, a lot of people were already wasted, and whatever was in that smoke probably cut off oxygen to the brain.” When Peter didn’t make a sound of affirmation, she continued, “This green man on a hover board business could just be the result of mixing a lot of different drugs.”

“With everyone having the same hallucination?”

“It’s not unheard of.” She tossed her cigarette and ground it in with her heel. “Look, you do what you need to do, alright? It’s good to see a friendly face.”

“It’s good to _be_ a friendly face.” Peter didn’t realize how uncool that sounded until it had left his mouth. Under his mask, he grit his teeth.

“We’re not really supposed to do this,” the officer said. She pulled a pad of paper from her pocket and wrote something on it. “But if you haven’t done anything to hurt this city yet, you probably aren’t going to.” She slipped him the paper. “Call me if you find anything. We’re on the same side, we should act like it.”

“Oh, uh. Thanks…” Peter squinted at the paper. “Yuri.”

“Officer Watanabe,” she corrected.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I’m gonna go help out with the people that are waking up,” she told him. “Do your thing.”

And she left him alone.

Peter scanned the area. If he could help it, he wanted to avoid the crowds, especially the still dizzy mass that still lingered on the ground. Peter felt bad— they’d just been out to have a good time, and their night had been ruined by… By whatever that had been. When he’d heard that the villain flew in, his first thought had been the vulture, but as far as Peter knew he was still at The Raft. Either way, whether it was him or not, people were still, at the least, unconscious. At the worst, that gas could have done some damage.

The first person he spoke too was still confused. “You’re Spider-Man,” he said, wobbly on his feet. Peter put a hand out to steady him. “I thought you were gone.” Peter swallowed.

“I came back with everyone else,” he said. “Can you tell me what happened tonight?”

“Where did you go?” The guy asked. “Where did you all go?”

“I don’t know,” Peter said, and he passed the partygoer over to the closest paramedic he could find.

The next girl threw up on him.

The third person he interviewed was the most helpful. “I was taking a video,” he said, holding his phone out to Peter with a shaking hand. Peter held the phone to steady it as he watched the Snapchat video. The video focused on a guy taking a shot, then quickly panned up to focus on something floating above the crowd. It had a green face, purple clothes, and it was standing on what, in truth, could only be described as a hover board. Peter stared, shocked. He had started to buy into officer Watanabe’s theory that this thing had been some kind of mass hallucination.

“Thank you,” he said. “That’s… that’s helpful.”

“It’s good to see you again, Spider-Man.”

Peter only nodded.

It was nearly two in the morning when he finally decided to call it a night. The crowd had thinned out, and the entire place had been combed by the police. Nobody had been hospitalized. Nobody was dead. In the end, everything had turned out okay. Peter had an arm out, ready to webshoot to a lamp post when he heard someone calling his name. Well, not his name. Alias, maybe. Codename? He was too tired to think about it too hard. He turned his head.

It took him a moment to remember where he recognized the girl that was currently running at him. Well, not running. Hobbling. She was still a little unsteady on her feet.

“Spider-Man!” She called. And, right, she had been his orientation leader. Peter struggled to remember her name. “Wait a minute!”

“Yes, miss?” He said in his best tough-guy voice. He lowered his arm and turned to face her the rest of the way.

She reached into her bag. Peter recoiled, sticking an arm out, ready to knock a gun out of her hand. “Woah!” He yelped. She looked up, surprised.

Gwen! That was her name! Gwen! And Gwen, as it turned out, _wasn’t_ trying to kill him. Instead of a weapon, she pulled a metal sphere out of her bag.

“I found this,” she said in a soft voice, eyeing Peter’s hand up. He followed her gaze, then immediately dropped his arm. He tried to play it off cool, too, by putting the hand on his hip. He felt uncomfortable doing it, so he couldn’t imagine how it actually looked. She held the sphere out for him, and he reluctantly took it. “I think it’s what that… _thing_ dropped,” she explained.

“Uh,” Peter said, turning it over in his hand. It was purple with grooves up and down the sides. One side had a dent in it. “Thank you,” he said. “That’s very helpful.”

—

Peter snuck into the room praying that his keys in the lock hadn’t woken Harry. His suit was on under his clothes, but it still smelled of vomit, and that wasn’t something Peter wanted to have to explain. At least, not something he wanted to explain this early in the game. It would probably happen eventually.

He opened his dresser drawer and tossed the sphere in on top of his Iron Man hoodie (Tony had claimed it was a gift from Morgan, but Peter knew she had better taste than that) and closed the drawer. He glanced over at Harry, who had (thankfully) fallen asleep with his headphones on.

He swiped his towel from the rack and grabbed his phone. On his way to the bathroom, he read his missed texts:

_Ned: Why do u have to have ur first case while im across the country? :(_

_Harley: Are you following that gas thing? Pretty fucked up, but it’s possible that it was a mix of…._

_MJ: I’m all moved in and settled, so if you want to grab coffee or something this week, let me know when you’re free._

_May: If you’re out there, be careful!!!! The police still don’t know what was in that gas!!!!_

Peter smiled, exhausted. He wrote out a quick reply to May to let her know he was safe, then tossed his phone on the edge of the sink. Whatever that gas was, it could wait until he’d taken a shower and gotten a few hours of sleep.

In so many ways, it felt like he had never left. In other ways, it felt like he had never come back. All of a sudden, time travel had been invented, new tech industries had popped up in New York, Tony had a daughter. The apartment Peter had known his Uncle Ben in was no longer his, and he was _in college_. Everything was happening so fast.

_And it had been a_ year.

“Where did you all go?” That guy had asked, and Peter wished he could answer. Wished he could say anything other than _I don’t know but please stop asking me_.


	2. I'm Not Scared of the Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Already working hard, huh?” Peter hummed agreement. He closed his laptop. “Hey, I was wondering--” Peter looked up again, head tilted, “I’m going to a party on Friday night. It’s a good way to meet people and let off some steam if you wanted to come.” Harry watched him with wide, hopeful eyes.

“Karen, what is this thing?” Peter leaned back against his headboard. He held up the metal sphere for the eyes of his mask to track it. 

“I can run some tests,” Karen said. “It might take a while.”

Peter glanced at the door. Harry had just left for class, he had an hour window, give or take. 

“Can you run them while I do my homework?” 

“I can run them in the background and let you know when I’ve completed them.” Peter’s shoulders sagged in relief. He grabbed his laptop from the desk. 

“Awesome. Thanks, Karen.” 

Somewhere between physics and Superhero history 101 Peter lost track of time. It wasn’t Karen that alerted him, but the sound of a key in the lock. The hair on the back of his neck stood up. Before he could register what he was doing, he ripped the mask off his head and webbed it between the wall and his bed, just out of the line of sight. 

Before the door opened, he caught a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror hung on it. His hair was sticking up, his eyes looked tired. He looked back at his computer screen and decided to act natural. Chill. Totally not suspicious. 

“Hey,” he said when Harry walked in. He didn’t take his eyes off his laptop. 

“Hey.” Harry dropped his bag on his desk and flopped onto the bed. He looked at Peter for a moment, then cautiously said, “yo, were you at that party last night?” Peter looked up. “The one that got gassed?” When Peter didn’t respond immediately, “I just meant because you came in so late, I just wanted to make sure that you’re okay, y’know?” 

“Oh, uh. No, I was…” Peter glanced back at his computer, typed something. Jibberish. He wanted to look busy while he thought. “I was at the library. Finishing up some work. But I heard about that. It’s awful.” He thought about the sphere stashed under his pillow, the one Gwen had run to him. 

“Already working hard, huh?” Peter hummed agreement. He closed his laptop. “Hey, I was wondering--” Peter looked up again, head tilted, “I’m going to a party on Friday night. It’s a good way to meet people and let off some steam if you wanted to come.” Harry watched him with wide, hopeful eyes. 

Parties weren’t really Peter’s scene. Meaning, he spent a lot of time fighting crime and it tended to eat into his weekends. He weighed his options-- Spend Friday night patrolling streets that didn’t seem to need his help much any more, or go out and make some friends. 

“Sounds fun,” he said. “Sure, I’ll go.”

\--

“Hey, sorry I’m late.” Peter slid into the seat. His bag thudded against the leg of the table. MJ looked at him, unimpressed. 

“Let me guess,” she said, looking at her nails nonchalantly. “Busy saving the world?” 

“Busy debating whether Shakespeare really wrote his plays,” he corrected. “English ran over. Did you order anything?” 

“Coffee,” she said. “Black.”

“Like your soul?” 

“Like your eye is gonna be if you don’t stop making that joke.” Her lips turned upwards into a smile. Peter bit the inside of his cheek. 

“It was Christopher Marlowe,” MJ said casually. 

“What?”

“That’s who wrote Shakespeare’s plays.”

“MJ, he was dead.”

“His death was faked.” 

“He faked his death?” Peter asked, unimpressed. 

“The government was after him, he had to do it.” 

“Do you have any idea how hard it is to fake your death?” Peter demanded. He leaned across the table, arms folded. 

“I mean, I’ve researched the basics,” she said with a shrug. “But back then it was even easier, just wear a fake beard and put your obituary in the paper. That’s how Mark Twain did it.”

“That’s--”

“Speaking of bards,” MJ said. A waitress dropped a cup of coffee off at the table for her. “Thanks.” She turned her attention back to Peter, “Ned and I are thinking of starting a game up. He wants to keep in touch. You should join.”

Peter sighed. “I… don’t think I have time,” he said. “What with--”

“I know, I know. The Stark Internship.” Her lips turned up in a teasing smile. 

“And  _ school _ ,” he corrected, eyes narrowed. “College is a lot of responsibility.” 

“And you feel a strong sense of responsibility because…” She scrunched her face up in the way only she could manage, eyebrows furrowed, lips pursed in a teasing smirk. 

“I mean, yeah that eats up a lot of my time too, sure. And I babysit sometimes--” 

“Peter, in this economy, death is imminent. Spend time with Ned and I while you can.” 

They held a mini staring contest. Peter blinked first. “Who’s DMing?” He sighed. 

“Ned,” she said, grinning at her own victory. “I’m a rogue, you might wanna choose a magic user.” 

  
  


—

When Peter thought of college parties what came to mind were the scenes from movies. Drunk people breaking things, frat boys chanting, the ground beneath his feet rattling to the beat of the music. When he and Harry knocked on the front door, he was surprised by how quiet it was. Outside, you’d barely be able to tell that there was a party going on. The air didn’t smell like cheap beer. There were no creepy, leering men. 

“Do you know anyone that’s gonna be here?” Peter asked, straightening his jacket. He hadn’t realized until he was standing in front of the door how much he longed for the days of high school parties with Ned. At least then he knew everyone behind the door, even if they were people like Flash Thompson. 

_ It’s a fresh start,  _ he heard May chide. 

“Not really,” Harry admitted. “A girl from my physics class invited me.” 

“Oh,” Peter said, at a loss of anything else to say.

Seemingly, no one opened the door. One minute they were staring at a closed door, the next they were staring into the front hall of the frat house. That’s where the sound kicked in. That’s where it started to sound and smell like a party from a movie. 

They followed the faint beat and the smell of booze to the basement. When they stepped in, beers were placed into their hands. Someone slapped Peter on the back. 

“Freshman?” he asked, and Peter turned to see the most Chad-looking guy in the world. Backwards hat, cargo shorts, boat shoes, polo shirt. Peter nodded, then turned to find Harry. 

He was being dragged away by a girl and a guy.

It was just Peter and Chad now. 

“This your first college party?” Chad yelled over the music. 

It was stifling. The sound, the people. Peter felt like he was being crushed under the weight of an abandoned parking garage. There were more people coming in, pushing him and Chad closer toward the gyrating crowd of a dance floor. 

Peter must have  _ looked  _ claustrophobic because Chad said, “Don’t worry, people will move upstairs in a few minutes!” And Peter didn’t get a chance to ask what was going to happen in a few minutes because Chad was pulled backward into the crowd distracted by something or other. 

Peter managed to catch Harry’s eye. Harry looked almost relieved, but when he tried to make his way back over to Peter, his path got blacked, and the music was so loud that Peter was seeing white. He looked around, abandoned the beer he had been given on a nearby table. 

It took nearly ten minutes for Peter to make his way back up the stairs into what was a now-crowded living room. Someone had a guitar. More people had drinks. Another Chad was leant up against a wall, talking to a girl, his lips twisted into a smirk. Her arms were crossed. She looked unimpressed, but she was smiling. It was Gwen. 

“Yeah,” she was saying, “it was crazy. It’s all over everyone’s snapchat stories, too. Just a green guy over the crowd.”

Peter paused. He pulled out his phone.

“It must have been scary,” Chad 2 said. “I hear Spider-Man didn’t even bother to show up.” 

Gwen scoffed. Peter rolled his eyes and continued pretending to scroll through his Instagram feed. 

“He did,” she said. “I gave him evidence.” 

“Evidence?” 

“Something the guy dropped.”

“You talked to Spider-Man?” Gwen giggled. “You know,” the guy said, “it could have been me.”

“The guy?”

“No. Spider-Man.” 

Peter took that as his cue to leave. The more people there were in New York claiming to be Spider-Man, the less likely it was someone would figure out it was him. Or, some math like that. Besides, his phone was ringing. The Imperial March. Ned’s face contorted his screen. Peter smiled despite his own discomfort. Relieved, he stepped out onto the porch, and basked in the almost-quiet.

“Hey, man,” he said. “What’s poppin’?”

“You did  _ not  _ just say ‘what’s poppin.’’”

“I’m trying something new,” Peter said. 

“What’s poppin’ isn’t new. It’s tried, and tested, and failed.” Peter snorted despite being offended. “MJ said you’re in for the game?” Peter pulled himself up so that he was sitting on the railing. 

“Yeah,” Peter said. “I haven’t played since eighth grade though.”

“That campaign  _ was  _ fire,” Ned said. “Guess who else I got to play?”

“The queen of England?” 

“The queen of our brief trip to England,” Ned corrected. 

“You talked  _ Betty  _ into playing  _ Dungeons and Dragons _ ?”

“She’s been trying a lot of new things lately,” Ned said. “It’s good for her.” 

“Mmm,” Peter hummed.

“She’s playing paladin. And I was thinking maybe you should be a warl--”

Peter felt a chill rush through him. He pushed himself backward into the bush. A moment later, something slammed into the side of the house just feet from where he had been sitting.

“Peter?” Ned called into the phone, but Peter was already pulling on his mask, his pants half off to reveal the suit underneath. 

He webbed the wall around the hole and sling-shot himself into the building. The air around him was a cloud of debris. People were screaming. He scanned the room, there was a similar hole on the wall across from him. 

There was no sign of the thing that had crashed. 

“There has been structural damage,” Karen warned him. “Support beams have been broken.”

“Of course they have.” Peter grit his teeth. The dust began to settle. He got a better view of the panicked and cowering students. They caught a glimpse of him, too. “I need everyone to get out!” he shouted. “Don’t close the door behind you!” 

He pushed back out the hole. Something crashed again, into the basement. Above the sound of the screams, he heard a laugh. It was vile, contorted. Using the momentum of his swing, Peter slammed into the glass of a basement window and tumbled into the party. 

It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the sudden dark. From where he was clinging to the corner, he could just barely make out the details of whatever was hovering above the crowd. It was standing on something. It was shaped like a man, but with long, pointy ears and a hat. 

“What?” The creature was demanding. “Are you afraid of the dark? Afraid of goblins?” 

Even in the dark, Peter could see its mouth twist into a cruel smile. It reached for something. Peter intervened before it could, webbing its hand to the wall behind it. 

“Hate to interrupt,” he said. “But I don’t think you were invited.” 

“Ahh,” the creature said, unsurprised. “Spider-Man.” 

It came barreling at him. Peter was pushed through the window and the ceiling above it, sent hurtling back out into the august night. He cried out, surprised, and gripped the creature. 

In the light, he could see the green face, the purple hat-- he could make out the chilling details. That included those of the “hoverboard.” There was no doubt this was the culprit from the other night. He tugged on its leg and sent them both careening sideways, away from the party. 

“This isn’t,” Peter gasped out, managing to find purchase with his foot on the metal board. “How you make new friends.” He webbed the creature’s face. It cried out, let go of Peter to reach for its face. Peter slipped backwards, off the board, falling to the ground. 

Two of his shots at the board missed. The third snagged the corner, throwing it off balance as he tried to recover. He still slammed his shoulder into the dirt. 

“Dammit,” he said around grit teeth, “grass stains are impossible to get out.” 

The board was on its side in the air, but the creature on top showed no signs of falling off. Instead, he leaned over and snapped the web. Peter reached his hand up to aim again, but before he could, smoke engulfed the air around him. It was impossible to see. 

“That,” he said, spitting dirt of his mouth, “is foul play.” 

It didn’t take long for the smoke to clear, but when it did, the creature and the board were gone. Peter punched the ground, groaned. Outside the house, the police had already gathered. The last of the students in the basement were being led out of the house.

\--

The party had been over for nearly two and a half hours when Peter finally staggered into his dorm room. All he wanted was to sleep off the pain in his shoulder. He’d managed to ignore it while he talked to the cops, but now that his bed was so close and the adrenaline had worn off, the throbbing had grown more insistent. 

His roommate had other plans.

“Holy shit,” Harry said as soon as the door opened. “I’ve been calling you for hours. Are you okay?”

Peter pulled his phone out of his pocket. Sure enough, he had ten voicemails and twenty missed calls. All from Harry. He winced. 

“Yeah,” he said, voice twisted with pain and surprise. “Sorry, it took forever to find my phone, and then I didn’t even bother to check it.” He forced a smile. Luckily, he’d managed to find his phone before the house had collapsed. 

“Are you okay? You were in the basement--” 

“I’m fine.” Harry stood. “But dude, are you? You look hurt.” 

It wasn’t until he said that Peter realized he was hunched, hand gripping the corner of the bedpost. His knuckles were white. 

“Dislocated shoulder,” he said. “It happens. The paramedics took care of it.” 

It would be fine by morning. 

“Hey, I just really, really want to go to bed right now,” he said, internally cringing at his own impoliteness. 

Harry stared at him, then his eyes lit up with realization. “Oh,” he said. “Yeah, of course, dude. I’m just… I’m glad you’re alright.” 

“Thanks,” Peter said. “You too.”

\--

Peter wasn’t supposed to go upstate until the second weekend of school, but Morgan called him. 

“Peter,” she said, with a level of seriousness that only a five year old could manage. “You dress the best.” 

“Excuse me?” He shifted his phone’s position on his laptop so she couldn’t see the stained T-shirt he was wearing. It had a terrible joke on it that questioned an electron’s ability to form meaningful relationships. 

“She wants you,” Pepper explained in the background, “to help her pick out her outfit for the first day of school. 

“I start on Monday,” she said. “Please?” 

“I…” And Peter couldn’t think of a good excuse not to. He had no upcoming tests, no urgent homework. And this had been before the second attack, before people were starting to worry. He thought about MJ’s warning.  _ Death is imminent.  _ “Yeah,” he promised, ”I’ll be there.”

“You’re the best!” Morgan said, pulling at Peter’s heartstring. Only five years old and she was already a master manipulator. 

“Dinner’s at six,” Pepper said.

“Be here at four!” Morgan demanded.

\--

“Are you ready?” Harley and Peter paused their conversation to look, intent, at the door to Morgan’s room. Peter rubbed at his shoulder absently. He’d been right in assuming that it would be mostly healed the next day, but the pain was still there. Better, but there. 

“Whenever you are!” Peter rested his chin on his hands and leaned forward. “What’s the first choice?”

“This!” Morgan stepped-- no, actually, she  _ strutted  _ from her bedroom in a dress that Peter could only describe as  _ sparkly _ . Blinding. Harley made a sound that he played off well enough as a cough. Peter opened his mouth, then closed it again. “What do you think?” 

“It’s very…  _ bright, _ ” he said. 

“Shiny,” Harley agreed. 

“What are the other choices?” Peter asked. “Before we make a decision?” 

The second dress was a lot more subtle. It was denim with embroidered flowers. It was a relief.

“Daddy picked this one out,” Morgan said before stepping out of the door wearing her third outfit. 

And that… made sense.

She was wearing an iron man T-shirt and jeans. Peter and Harley exchanged a look. Harley crossed his arms over his chest. Peter snorted. 

“It’s the most casual one,” he admitted. “It might be more fun to play on the playground in.”

“But if you wear a dress,” Harley pointed out, “you’ll make a fancy first impression.” 

Morgan furrowed her brow. She cupped her chin in her hands, rubbed at an imaginary beard. Abruptly, her face lit up.

“Eureka!” She yelled, and before either Harley or Peter had time to address  _ that _ , she had already slammed the bedroom door behind her. 

She came out wearing the sparkly dress and jeans. This time, Harley had to turn away to stifle his laughter. Peter kicked his shin, but he was also having a hard time keeping a straight face. 

“This way,” she said with an air of importance, “I can play at recess  _ and  _ make a fancy first expression.” 

“It looks great,” Peter promised, his voice cracking. “Why don’t you go show Mommy?” 

\--

“Morgan, come wash your hands before dinner!” Pepper stuck her head into the garage. She gave Harley a pointed look. “You guys, too.” 

“We’ll be in in a few minutes, Mrs. Potts,” Peter promised. “We’re just going to clean up a little bit.” 

See, Peter hadn’t planned on coming up, but Harley had practically moved in. It took a while after the world had been saved for him to warm up, but he and Peter spent nearly every weekend upstate anyway, and he’d started most of his projects up here and it was difficult to move them-- that last part was his excuse. 

Peter knew that being home reminded him of being lonely and being scared.

Peter also knew better than to ever bring that up to him. 

“So what  _ is  _ it?” Peter asked. He watched Harley fiddle with the sphere. 

“It looks like a metal pumpkin,” Harley said. 

“Why would the bad guy have dropped a metal pumpkin?” 

Harley shrugged. “He really likes Halloween?” He met Peter’s annoyed gaze. 

“I don’t know, man. Is it possible it isn’t from him?” 

Peter pulled his flannel on, wincing at the sharp tug on his shoulder. “Who else would it be from?”

“Dude, you should get that checked out.”

“I’m fine.”

“Maybe from someone at the party. Maybe it was a decoration or something.” 

“So what? Just drop it?” Peter glanced at Harley over his shoulder. He was still looking at the small pumpkin, still turning it over, still prodding at it. 

“Maybe,” he said. It clanked against the table as Harley tossed it down.

\--

“I’ll go get the boys,” Pepper said. 

The next thing Tony heard was a scream. A door slammed. Tony practically slid into the kitchen. Pepper’s hand was over her face, covering her mouth and nose. There was a cloud of smoke around her. 

“Tony,” She said. Louder, “Tony!” 

He put a hand on her shoulder as he stepped past her, pulled her back a little bit. He opened the door, and then slammed it behind him immediately, trapping himself in the garage along with the thick cloud of gas that had filled the room. He couldn’t see his hand in front of his face. 

“Friday,” Tony said around a cough. “Open the garage doors.” 

A helmet from one of the suits covered his face. “Where are the kids?” He asked the suit.

The word ‘searching’ crossed his eyes. Just as quickly, the outlines of an unconscious Harley and Peter showed up. 

It was almost like Tony didn’t have to say what he wanted anymore. Or, maybe, he just couldn’t remember saying anything, because the next thing he knew he was kneeling over them and they each had a helmet from one of his various suits on. The gas was starting to clear out. Tony was almost able to breathe again. 

“What is this stuff?” 

“It appears to be a mix of Halothane and Nitrous Oxide,” Friday replied. 

“Deadly?” 

“Only in large, prolonged doses.” 

“Their vitals—“

“Normal,” Friday assured. “They appear to be asleep. Unharmed.” 

Tony’s shoulders slouched. He pressed the palm of his hand to the metal of his helmet. Relief clouded his breath. He stayed there until Friday promised the air was clear of all traces of gas. When he opened the door, May didn’t even wait to rush past him. 

He took the mask off. He met Pepper’s eye. Despite her clear panic, she offered a soft smile. A “we’ve been here before” smile. A “we’ve gotten past this before” smile. An “everything has turned out okay” smile. 

“Morgan’s with Rhodey,” she said. “He’s going to give her dinner.” 

\--

Peter woke up on the concrete floor of the garage. His head ached. When he opened his eyes, the sunlight burned. 

May was the first to notice.

“He’s awake!” Peter pushed himself up onto his elbows, squinting. He coughed, and it felt like running sandpaper down his throat. He opened his mouth and what came out was a choked laugh. 

One normal dinner, that’s all he’d wanted.

“What—“ he started, voice hoarse.

“You geniuses set off a chemical bomb in close quarters,” Tony said. Peter followed his voice to where he was kneeling over Harley. “You could have died,” he said, “and taken all of us with you.” 

Peter swallowed. A glass of water was shoved into his hand. “Is he okay?” 

“He’s breathing.” 

“You’ve been out for ten minutes,” May said, pushing Peter’s hair back on his forehead. Her hand was trembling. “And you’re all… super.” 

Petter sat up the rest of the way. His knee nudged something, and he looked down to make direct eye contact with the mask. “Was I wearing the Iron Suit?” He asked. 

“Is that really your concern right now?” Tony asked. 

“Is it wrong if I say yes?” But Peter didn’t take his eyes off of Harley. Tony waved something under Harley’s nose. There was no reaction. 

“What the hell happened?” Tony asked. 

“I don’t know,” Peter said. He coughed again. “I-- I was about to leave, Harley had it. Maybe he triggered something—“

“I’d say he did!” 

“Tony,” May warmed. “Is now a good time to lecture? Harley can’t even hear you.” 

“It’s not like he’d listen anyway,” Tony retorted, leveling his gaze to meet hers. Peter looked between them, light-headed. 

Tony looked away first. 

“I’m not sending you back to school tonight,” Tony said. “Halothane is toxic, we need to monitor your vitals.” 

“But--” Peter started. The look Tony shot him made him shut his mouth. 

“Liver failure,” Tony said, his voice sharp. “Malignant hyperthermia, cardiac arrhythmia. You’re staying.” 

“Mr. Stark, I--” 

“Are you seriously going to argue with me about this?” Tony raised an eyebrow. Peter shook his head. It nearly sent him sideways. May put a hand on his shoulder to keep him steady.

“No, I just--”

“Peter, I’m not going to let you go home just to die from some kind of complication--”

“Tony,” May said, motioning with her head. “He’s trying to tell you that Harley’s waking up.” 

Tony looked down at where Harley’s fingers were twitching. He turned his head over, made a sound similar to a hiss. 

“Harley,” he said, putting a hand on his shoulder. He shook, gently. Harley groaned. 

“Ih wassa bum,” Harley muttered, then broke out in a coughing fit. 

“What?” Tony didn’t move his hand from Harley’s shoulder. He was green around the gills, pale everywhere else. Sweat stuck his hair to his forehead. At his side, his hands shook violently. 

“Bomb,” Harley said again. “Ih was a bomb.” 

“That you set off in my house,” Tony agreed.

Harley sighed, brought an arm up to cover his face. He took a deep breath, then another, and when Tony was content that Harley wasn’t about to drop dead, he took his hand off his shoulder, sat back, and took a few deep breaths himself. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, all. I'm using this fic as a practice for long-form writing and keeping deadlines! So the plan is to update it weekly with chapters around this length. Did you like this fic? Leave a comment, or find me on tumblr or twitter @dredfulhapiness. My inbox is always open for headcanons, fic requests, or just some fun conversation. There's also some more drabbles on my tumblr that are, admittedly, a little more edited than this. Feel free to reach out!
> 
> Also, the chapter title is from Scared of the Dark by Lil Wayne

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time writing something so long-form, but I figure this will be good practice! If you have any questions, comments, or concerns, you can shoot me an ask on tumblr @dredfulhapiness. I also post some drabbles on there! I'm hoping to update at least once a week! 
> 
> The title of this fic is from 'Sky Full of Song' by Florence and the Machine! The chapter title is from This Year by The Mountain Goats


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